Suffering in Shadows
by SmileyHalo
Summary: The shadows of night are the worst for the small hobbit, because they aren't the only source of the darkness creeping through his mind...Rated for dark/angsty themes


His cheeks burnt near scarlet with shame as he hastily made his way over to the corner of his room, where the nearest chamber pot stood, a bitter mixture of tears and perspiration running down his face as the bile rose forcibly upwards

His cheeks burnt near scarlet with shame as he hastily made his way over to the corner of his room, where the nearest chamber pot stood, a bitter mixture of tears and perspiration running down his face as the bile rose forcibly upwards. He leant over the bowl just in time; his stomach heaved painfully, his throat burning as the foul liquid escaped his lips, one wave after another, his stomach turning from the stench of it.

Leaning shakily against the pot after the last wave of nausea had passed, the young hobbit began to laugh bitterly as he thought about what the hobbits of the town would say if they could see their "lord" now. The brave soldier who fought alongside the big folk, not brought down to his knees by sword, axe or arrow in battle, but by the mere memory of it, relived in terrifying dreams which he could do nothing to control.

It had been over a year since he had returned home to the Shire, more than enough time, as far as he was concerned, for his hurts to have healed. And they had, in body at least, but his heart and mind remained troubled by all the horrors the tweenager had witnessed during his time abroad.

Each night he would retire early to his bed in the vain hope that just for once, his body would lapse in to the kind of peaceful slumber he had enjoyed every night before leaving the Shire three (?) years ago.

It often started well enough; after a time he was able to shake off the bad feeling he got in his gut when he recalled the rough shouts and harsh whispers that emanated from both friend and foe that surrounded him in battle, dismissing those rowdy choruses in favour of more joyful ones, from the drinking songs and lullabies of his youth. He was then given respite for a few blissful hours before the twilight shadows crept across the border between consciousness and dreams. It was then that the real terror began, as he was plagued relentlessly by images of the dead and dying; orcs and goblins, filthy and heartless, a rotten stench surrounding their motionless bodies even before Death took them. Elves, serene and beautiful even as their light faded from the earth forever. Men, young and old, innocent and battle-weary, brave and defiant in the face of evil right up until the last breath shook their broken bodies. Boromir, felled as he put up a valiant fight for the freedom of Pippin and Merry. Merry, cold and unmoving, handsome face warped by unspeakable agony as the darkness seeped through him like a poison, chilling him to the very bone, leaving him frozen.

It would all become too much for Pip then, and often he awoke sobbing, his heart thumping audibly in his chest, fingers gripping the bedstead so tightly in his abject terror that they had begun to wear away the polish in places. Then the morning ritual began. The knot of fear in his stomach would dissolve, giving way to a violent churning that could not be relieved until his stomach contents had been released.

Pippin pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, waiting impatiently for the dizziness to subside; dawn was breaking over the horizon, meaning Merry would soon be up. Brave, courageous Cousin Merry, still so strong despite all that he too had suffered. It made Pippin ashamed of his ongoing terror; how could he still be this weak when Merry, who had suffered far more in his eyes, showed no signs of fear at all? He couldn't know, wouldn't know what it was that Pippin went through each night; Pippin had sworn that he would never let his cousin go back to the darkness, even if it meant that the younger hobbit went in his place.

Being careful not to spill the foul contents inside, Pippin took the soiled chamber pot out to the deep ditch that lay out the back of his and Merry's home, emptying it of the only evidence of the young hobbit's dirty secret.

A/N: This story currently stands as a one shot, but I can be persuaded to extend it if that is what you lovely readers wish! Do let me know...

I hope I have not made any mistakes. If so, they are all my own; please forgive me!

SmileyHalo


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